


Needs Must

by 3littleowls



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Pining, Whump, brollyOTP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-20
Updated: 2015-03-20
Packaged: 2018-03-18 16:52:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3576855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3littleowls/pseuds/3littleowls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft only comes to the Kingsman storefront in dire straights, and when he does, Harry always manages to be on shift.</p><p>*If you squint there are spoilers for Kingsman: The Secret Service</p>
            </blockquote>





	Needs Must

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DemonicSymphony](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemonicSymphony/gifts).



> Happy birthday to Demonicsymphony! It's not much of a surprise since he was a beta, but it's a gift all the same! Many happy returns!

Mycroft doesn’t hesitate as he opens the door of the bespoke men’s shop on Savile Row. There is no preparing him for this anyway- there never was. But needs must.

A man greets him as he enters. “Good morning sir, may I help you?”

Mycroft doesn’t recognise him. Not that he would. It has been two years since he was last here. When his work intersects with the Kingsmen, it’s usually with one of the knights and not with one of the support staff or real tailors that front the shop.

“I am your eleven o’clock. The name is Mycroft Holmes.”

The man nods. “Of course, sir. Please excuse me a moment and I’ll let your tailor know you’re here.” He smiles before turning and threading himself through the shop and up the back steps.

He takes the time to look around the shop. The shop hadn’t changed much besides the styles of the suits and the patterns in the bolts of fabric. It smells just as he remembers: lemon oil wood polish, leather and the dry tang of woolen cloth. It reminds him of long ago- of trials completed and lost, and most of all of missed chances.

“Mr Holmes. It’s nice to see you again.”

Mycroft turns to greet Harry Hart. Of course he wouldn’t have been able to complete this transaction without seeing him. Mycroft only comes to the storefront in dire straights, and when he does, Harry always manages to be on shift.

Mycroft tilts his chin. Time has started to blur Harry’s aristocratic jawline but it has not faded the brightness in his eyes. Still, he calculates, his years remaining as Galahad have to be few in number. Some of the Kingsmen move to other roles as they age, but more often than not, they go out with their boots on. He knows what Harry will choose: one day, he will open the door and another Galahad will be there to meet him.

What never changes is the softening around Harry’s eyes when he sees him. If Harry has a fault it’s his inability to keep a poker face; his feelings flit over the surface. Mycroft can read his affection easily and it’s not Harry that keeps the distance between them.

Mycroft last gave in a handful of years ago. He saw Harry at a ridiculous banquet in one of his blue velvet dinner jackets, bored on some intel-gathering detail. They found a quiet table off to the side and reminisced about their training class. As the night wore on they had defiled an office in the mansion, Harry shoving a chair under the doorknob as they stripped each other down to sock garters and vests. Mycroft blames that particular lapse on too many whiskies and martinis.

Still, it’s electric when their palms slide together to shake hands. Harry wets his lip with a quick dart of his tongue.

“It’s good to see you so well, Mr Hart.” It is a relief that today isn’t the day a younger knight will introduce himself- the root cause of his tension when his oxfords hit the front steps of the shop. It’s certainly not from the warm coil that spreads through him every time he sees Harry. 

_Neurochemicals. Nothing to fuss about._

Harry releases Mycroft’s hand. “Thank you, Mycroft. What can we do for you today?”

Mycroft holds up his umbrella. “I’m sorry to say I’m having trouble with this. I was hoping to see someone about an exchange?”

Harry smiles. It’s too jovial- it would be obvious he’s breaking character if he were undercover. “Oh yes, your Brigg Whangee- a very special edition if I recall. We’re flattered that you still carry it after all this time. Let’s take a look in the fitting room. The light is better in there.”

Mycroft nods and Harry leads the way to the fitting room. He presses his hand to the mirror and it scans his palm.

“A few modern day enhancements,” Harry explains. Twenty years ago when Mycroft had been brought through this room by his sponsor, Sir Percival, there had been a hidden switch under the changing bench to reveal the hidden door.

“Merlin serves you well. It’s a shame we didn’t recruit him for MI6.”

Harry shrugs a shoulder. “Too much bureaucracy for him. No offense. He would have chafed.”

“Like yourself? Afraid to commit to laws and procedures?” Mycroft finds himself asking. 

Sadness picks at the corners of Harry’s eyes. “I’m not the one with the commitment issues, Mycroft.” He turns away as the door is revealed.

He swallows. Harry is right, of course, but Mycroft had been given little choice. Harry had been chosen as Galahad, was whisked away to work as a Kingsman knight. Mycroft had failed the trails and was sent home in the third round. Not quite up to snuff with the physical requirements. He had been given a choice to serve the organization in the background, but his family connections had given him better options to create a place for himself in the Queen’s government. It was for the best for both of them to distance themselves, keep things professional. Minus the occasional passionate lapses.

They step into the revealed armory room and Harry pulls a bamboo handled umbrella from the rack. He twirls it gracefully to offer it to Mycroft. “With compliments from Merlin.”

Mycroft takes the new brolly and points the tip away from Harry. He pops it open, watches the conductive fabric activate on the inside to create a softly glowing display panel. 

“Please thank Merlin and your organization for extending me the privilege,” Mycroft tells him, folding it closed carefully.

“Of course. You’re an ally of the organization and a friend.” Harry props Mycroft’s old brolly against a wall. “We lost Lancelot, you know.”

Mycroft nods. “Yes, I heard through the regular channels. Condolences, of course.”

“Of course.” Harry studies him silently. He sighs deeply, chest rising and falling. “Mycroft…” Harry reaches a hand out to him, beckoning. A silent entreaty.

Mycroft takes the hand. Hope lights Harry’s eyes for an instant, before Mycroft slides it into a different grasp, a handshake. Mycroft can school his expression, freeze it to ice, but he can’t stop the old, inner ache as Harry’s face falls. 

“Well, it was nice catching up as always. With a new recruit to select, I’m sure you’re busy, as am I. Thank you, and we will have the opportunity to meet again, I’m sure.”

“Yes, I’m sure. Goodbye, Mycroft,” Harry says softly, recovering as they take shelter in formality. “Remember, if you need anything…”

“Yes, ‘oxfords, not brogues’. Good day.”

Harry tries for a cocky smile and gestures to the door. He doesn’t see Mycroft out.

As Mycroft exits the shop, he dials Anthea on his mobile. “Send everything we have on Richmond Valentine to Arthur the tailor, please.” 

Light rain starts to patter on the pavement. The brolly whirrs softly when Mycroft opens it. He walks away from Kingsman without a backwards glance.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Beaubete for more betaing.


End file.
